Unraveling the Braid
by DarkGatomon
Summary: Set after Duelist Kingdom, and before Yami has ever seen a Millennium Item, this story follows two different timelines and one basic idea: What happens when you focus on a thread too closely, and start to unravel the braid?
1. Prologues

Unraveling the Braid

*Author's Note: A few warnings. First, the two prologues to this story are very short, but I feel they work better being separate than meshed with other chapters. Also, the first one imitates a scene from the show, but this is just to give it a time-frame.

Secondly, this fic is slightly AU from pretty much everything -- it contains information that contradicts the show, the manga, and even history. This isn't out of ignorance -- I did months of study before beginning to write this -- but a feeling that it was necessary for the plot. If you require strict accuracy, I suggest you look elsewhere.

Thirdly, I do not own Yu-Gi-Oh!, nor do I wish to, and I use its characters and plot with the utmost respect for its creators. However, this story is mine, so please do not use it without my permission.

Fourthly, I stole the chapter titles from Yu-Gi-Oh! song translations, so please credit the great translators of animelyrics.com -- except for quotes from Ashita Moshi Kimi ga Kowaretemo. I found the non-animelyrics version first, and still prefer it.

Finally, I should thank Sasha Janre-Ishtar and PokeDigiManiac for their pre-reading and support. You guys were great!

With that said and done, I now leave you to read the story itself -- assuming you haven't started to already. I hope you like it!*

  


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~Prologue One: If you were to break~

Yugi smiled as he watched Kaiba turn and walk away. Seeing him reunited with his brother gave him a vicarious thrill -- even as it increased his longing to see his grandfather again. To know that he was safe.

//You did it. You saved everyone, Yugi.//

Yugi jumped at the sudden intrusion of his other's comment, then blushed. 'I'm jumping at shadows,' he rebuked himself, before turning his smile on the spirit. /We both did! I couldn't have done it without you./ The other just inclined his head slightly in acknowledgement. /So... So you think that... that he really is alright, then?/

The spirit, too, was startled, surprised by Yugi's trust in him. At how he begged for reassurance. But then, Yugi gave his trust freely to everyone... Even realizing this, the spirit was honored, and hoped that he never did anything to break it. This was already a second chance he hadn't expected to get, and he wasn't going to let it go to waste. //I'm certain of it, Yugi. He's probably thinking of you, waiting for you, right now.//

Yugi smiled up at him, his eyes once again bright. /Thank you!/ He blushed self-consciously. /You've done so much for me, and I don't even know your name./

//I've been called many things, through the ages. Pharaoh, Yugioh...// He smiled back at Yugi. //But you can call me "Yami."//

/"Yami?"/ Yugi frowned. /That doesn't exactly seem cheerful.../

Yami smiled more broadly, letting his voice fade from Yugi's mind. //Just think of me as your shadow...//

  


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~Prologue Two: Talking about running~

The final chord throbbed mournfully through the air, mixing with its echoes to create a sound that barely avoided being a dirge. The boy plucked the last few notes of the song again, aching for that moment of closure and release that comes with the end of a tune -- but to no avail. It needed the tension of the chords that had come before it to feel right. And he knew this, but he couldn't help trying. He sighed and cradled his lyre gently on his lap, stroking the sides like a good-luck charm.

For he needed all the luck he could get. It was not that he was so badly off, but everyone's lives held dangers and he was as aware of his own as anybody else. Being born the second son of the Pharaoh had the upside of wealth, education, security, and a host of other things. But his older brother was _much_ older and poised to take on a joint leadership with their father, the king. This meant he had never had to learn all the tediums that came with running a country, hadn't been hounded practically from birth by a "shadow court" of other kids who would become advisors to the young king, hadn't had to show off for the public... but it did mean that he was potential competition for the throne none-the-less, something that would make the palace a place to be avoided once his brother returned from his smaller ruling in Memphis to be crowned.

Still, thought the boy philosophically, brothers don't generally assassinate brothers for no reason. He could always explain to Tuthmosis that he wasn't interested in the crown, that he would be happy to disappear along the Nile with his lyre, and his flute...

...but who would believe that he didn't want to be king?

He scrubbed at his short, coarse hair with his hands, clamping the lyre between his knees so that it wouldn't fall. His hair had only recently been freed from its ponytail, and it still felt odd. It was now closely cropped, black and curly, a few shades darker than even his skin... except at the front, where it seemed straighter and was a bright yellow, almost beyond blonde. Light hair was unusual in his country, he knew, but he hoped this was a good omen. After all, his father had raised the ancient god of the sundisk to new prominence shortly before his birth, and here he was with golden hair. That had to mean _something._

But whatever it meant, it itched. He was glad to be old enough to be rid of the sidelock that indicated youth, but he wasn't sure that it wasn't more comfortable.

The boy sighed again, and was beginning to pluck out a new tune on his lyre when he was interrupted by the swish-flip-flop of sandals on the stone floor of the corridor. A servant. Back here, in this practically desolate section of the palace?

The servant stopped at his doorway, as he'd expected. After a brief bow -- as much as a prince of the house deserved from a busy royal messenger -- he spoke. "I bear a summons for Prince Amenhotep from the great king of Upper and Lower Egypt, Amenhotep the Third..."


	2. Grains of light

~Chapter One: Grains of light~

The sun, working from years of trial-and-error experience, navigated its way into Yugi's bedroom. This was not entirely appreciated by Yugi, who drew the covers over his head to compensate. The sun made it clear that a draw did not count as a win, and Yugi eventually gave up on the idea of sleep, delighting instead on the soft feel of a pillow beneath his head and no dew-wet grass anywhere in sight. /Good morning, Yami,/ he drawled sleepily but clearly inside his mind. /It's so nice to be home, isn't it, and just know that everybody's safe? I could lie here all day.../

His yami's voice carried a similar feeling of not yet having opened his eyes, and not planning to do so for a long time yet. //Doesn't school start in fifteen minutes?//

Yugi fell out of bed with the sheets still around his head.

It took Yugi several days to catch up on all the sleep he'd missed at Duelist Kingdom, several more to get rid of the bruise he'd gotten on his shoulder from literally rolling out of bed, and longer than he liked to think about to finish the detentions he'd earned for missing a week of school. His reason had been perfectly valid, of course, but it wasn't exactly the sort of reason a teacher would believe, and he'd been far too tired to think up a plausible excuse. Thinking back, he had an unpleasant suspicion it had involved porcupines...

Most of the others had sensibly decided to skip another day and slept until noon. Bakura had seemingly gone all-out, and took almost two weeks to return, offering no other comment than that he'd almost burned down the house trying to make breakfast that first morning (a concept that Tristan complained made him feel hungry).

Kaiba, of course, had gotten into no trouble at all.

Mokuba was as seldom seen as before, except for that Tuesday he'd met the others after school and handed Yugi a large bag of candy bars, blushed slightly, winked, then run off before his brother could see him there. Joey spent the next five minutes wondering just how big Mokuba's allowance was, before deciding that he didn't want to know and needed lots of chocolate to get rid of the disturbing thoughts.

Yugi was surprised at how quickly things seemed to return to normal, in that way they always do even when we think things can never be the same again. Although... there _was_ Yami...

Yami was definitely not normal, but he still became an accepted part of the routine. None of Yugi's friends were exactly comfortable around him -- although they tried not to show it -- and Yami had little in common with them, so they were each content to leave the other be. The surreptitious glances at his Puzzle gradually decreased, and if the others sometimes asked why he'd suddenly started smiling, he'd sheepishly reply that he was just happy they were all there. While this sometimes earned vicious jokes from passers-by, Yugi never minded, and Joey and Tristan could usually be persuaded from beating them up. Once they saw Duke assaulting one of these boys, but he brusquely assured them that it was over an unrelated affair.

But aside from that, there was peace, quiet, the safety of a happy home and good friends. While he knew there were dangers, they still waited in the future, and he had little need to worry about them. Until...!

Yugi sighed and leaned on the Delete key until the last three paragraphs disappeared from the screen. /This is going to take forever!/ he complained.

//Especially if you keep erasing everything. What are you writing about, anyway?//

/Something suspenseful, apparently,/ Yugi replied absently, as he scanned the rest of the page to find out what topic he'd strayed from in the first place. /Okay, er... Greece.../ He picked up a piece of paper, out of uncomfortably many, and ran his finger down the list. /Yeah, here we go..."Comp/con 3(+) Ancient civs."/

//I see.//

/No, you don't, because you've been playing solitaire, but I'll explain,/ laughed Yugi. He set down the paper with the abbreviated list, and picked up one containing the details. /I have to compare at least three ancient societies on, well, too many subjects. At least we get to choose which societies to compare, though... I can write about the ones we did first. You know, the ones I was actually there to hear about./

//And which ones were those?//

/I forget./ Yugi pondered that for a moment before suddenly perking up. /I know! I could write about Egypt!/

//That's a good idea, Yugi,// replied Yami, already engrossed in another game of solitaire.

/Will you help me?/

//Help you... how?// he asked warily, setting down his cards.

Yugi twisted the cord of the Puzzle around his finger. /Well, since you lived there, and all, I'd bet you could tell me some really interesting things about Egyptian society, or just even yourself, or, or... anything!/

//Then you should be glad you're not a betting man, Yugi.//

Yugi's hands dropped slowly to his lap. /...I'm sorry./

//Don't be. I'm not ashamed. Would I rather have my past than not? Of course. Would I rather have it than live?

//Yugi, I am here for a reason. If I need to know my old name, I'll find out.// He smirked. //After all, I'm god.//

Yugi laughed. /Alright, Yami. So, do you want to help me make stuff up, then?/

//Only if I'm listed as a reference!//

Yugi leaned over to flick on the light. /Pretend to write a second book, and you can be two!/ Yami chuckled, and the moon inched its way across the sky.

/Good morniiiing!/ sang Yugi as he stretched, several days later.

//Are you going to say that _every_ morning?// demanded a testy voice in his head.

/But today's a special day!/ Yugi chirped back, undaunted.

//Isn't _every_ day a special day?//

/Each in its own way!/ he giggled, not caring what he was quoting.

//Ugh,// was Yami's succinct reply.

/No, but it is! Today I finally get to turn in the last of my overdue homework!/

//But you know your teacher said you'd still have detentions for a week after you finished.//

/Yeah, but at least that week begins today!/ Yugi jumped out of bed and started rummaging for clothes. /And then we can be doing fun things after school again -- like dueling!/

//I wonder if we could convince Duke to get serious about Duel Monsters.//

/Looking for a new challenge?/

//Well, it's either that or convincing Kaiba to join your group of friends, and I think that would be a hard sell.//

/Hmm... but they're both running companies. They're probably very busy./

//Nothing should come before Duel Monsters!!//

Téa was surprised to see Yugi leave his house clutching a piece of toast and laughing himself speechless. 'One of these days,' she thought with a sigh, 'I've gotta get myself a nice, normal girl friend...'

/...and the prince and princess had a beautiful wedding, and they all lived happily ever after!/ There was a long pause, which Yugi finally ended by prompting, /Well?/

Yami answered slowly, //I don't mind, Yugi, but is there a reason you've been telling me fairy tales?//

Yugi sweatdropped. /After so much time here in detentions, I'm starting to run out of novel topics for conversation. Unless you have some?/

//Should you really be talking at all?// Yami responded, ignoring the lead.

/No, but... It's not like I was here because I was _bad._ Besides, my teacher seems to like the glassy-eyed expression of complete stupefaction I apparently get when talking to you./

//So you're being considerate?//

/Hey, if it works.../ Yugi stifled a yawn. /Wish she'd let us sleep./ He half-closed his eyes and linked his fingers around the Millennium Puzzle as if preparing for meditation. /Mm... it's warm,/ he murmured comfortably.

//Yes... I bet it is,// Yami remarked, slightly surprised.

If Yugi had been talking to someone physical, the idea that there was something about the Millennium Puzzle about which his yami wasn't sure would probably have made him gape, or at least blink rapidly. As it was, he frowned slightly and otherwise perfected his vacant expression. /Is that... strange?/ he asked cautiously.

//No, not at all. I just hadn't thought about it, and it startled me. If I had, I would have expected it.//

That was almost rambling, and Yugi hastened to take advantage of Yami's open mood. /So, what's the big deal? Why's it feel warm?/

//There isn't really a simple answer.// Yami looked away for a minute, and Yugi began to think that he wouldn't answer. Just when he was about to rephrase his questions, Yami continued. //Alright. As you know, the Millennium Puzzle has great magical potential. It can do incredible things -- but not by itself. It needs a user, and one who has strong magical powers himself. The Items channel the energy of the one using them, but they have none of their own. All they can do is strengthen and direct.//

/That makes sense. But why does that make it warm? I'd think it would be the other way around... It would be because it was radiating power, or something./

//In a way, it is. Think of it like a prism. When light enters a prism, it's split into different colors... that's like using the Puzzle. But the glass also reflects, and a little of the light goes back the way it came.//

/Oh! So that's... that's _my_ magic I'm feeling?/

//That's right. But there's more to it than that. You see, everyone has their own specialty in magic -- something that's easier for them, or that they're better at doing. That's why Pegasus received the Millennium Eye instead of, say, the Millennium Scales. Fate could have given either one to him, but his magic and the kind the Eye amplifies were the most closely related.//

/And that's why he was destined to have it?/

//Yes, it was one reason -- but it was also because of who he was. The magic you're best at wielding depends on who you are -- so that's part of why Pegasus was meant to have the Eye, you were meant to have the Puzzle... and why the Puzzle feels like it does to you. What you're feeling is _you._//

/I'm... warm?/

Yami almost laughed, but settled for a smile, since Yugi was being so serious. //It's not so literal as that. Another person might find it smooth, or soft, or pink.//

/Pink?/

//You never know.//

/Er, right.../ Yugi wasn't sure whether his yami was joking or not, so he moved on. /So, what kind of magic does that mean I have?/

//I think that's something you need to find out for yourself... Besides, I think this conversation should be over, unless you want to have a much longer one with your teacher.//

/...huh?/ Yugi focused his eyes and heard his teacher finish telling them that they could go home now. /Thanks!/ he said, and smiled at the slight nod he received in return.

'Home...' he thought as he picked up his schoolbag. 'As warm as the Puzzle feels, I think I'll always love the feel of that word more...'


	3. The dull corner of the room

*Author's Note: First, I'd like to mention that all names used in this fic are real Ancient Egyptian names, and wherever possible are even the correct ones for each person. Also, I'd like to apologize for having picked such a famous pharaoh -- unfortunately, I didn't know he was so famous when I chose him, and just went by what seemed like a compatible personality and "plot" of his life. Fate, alas, does not seem to like me.*

  


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~Chapter Two: The dull corner of the room~

Amenhotep tugged irritably at his braid. Was his hair _always_ going to vex him? Sidelocks, braids, intricate crowns, and everything else that was far too heavy, sandy, itchy, pinching...

He threw his hand away from his hair as if burned and picked up his stylus, trying not to start a rant about that, too. It was hard, though, considering the stupidity of it all. Reading and writing? He had enough scribes, why did he need to be one himself? Tales of the gods? He'd worship them gladly, but it's not like they were predictable, so why should he care about their past benefices? If you couldn't predict them, you couldn't count on them, so how would they help him run his country?

With a sigh, Amenhotep went back to marking runes. It wasn't "his" country yet, even if Tuthmosis had gotten himself killed in Memphis in some "hunting accident." Hunting accident! Tuthmosis had been no more interested in hunting bulls than Amenhotep was in ruling. Or in wasting his time until he could. 'If it's my job, then I'll do it, but do I really have to sit around waiting for the decade until it's mine?' He finished the hieroglyph with a vicious stoke, set down the stylus, and awaited the inevitable comment that my prince could surely do much better if he'd just try. 'True enough, but your prince doesn't care!'

He nodded diligently to the lecture, thinking darkly about his tutor's right to criticize, and responded with a generic "thanks" to his dismissal. He slunk out of the room, ignored his next appointment, and gave honest thanks for the fact that, while the servants reported to his father, they couldn't keep him from going where he wanted to themselves.

Messengers, however, had to be treated with more respect. He tried to satisfy himself with a glare at the particularly smug one who had just come to summon him, and found that it didn't help at all. By the smirks on all their faces, his "secret" back-passage hide-out was now the first place they looked. Unfortunately, they were trusted to know at least hints of the king's affairs, and so Amenhotep could not even appease himself by dismissing them for petty offenses. And they knew it, the ingrates.

His father was in the private apartment, unsurprisingly for this time of day. Amenhotep fought down the feeling of pride he felt at even being there. After all, his father had hundreds of wives, many Egyptian along with the countless diplomatic marriages. None of his sisters had ever married foreign kings, of course, nor would a non-native son ever be accepted on the throne. None-the-less, while Amenhotep was the eldest living son of his father's chief queen, Tiye, sons by lesser wives were often allowed to rule. That Amenhotep had been chosen was a statement of confidence... but he didn't want to rule! Why should he play that game? If other people want him to, let _them_ be the ones to make the sacrifices.

"I don't care what you pretend," began his father simply, but to Amenhotep it felt unpleasantly like he'd just read his mind. "I know what you can do," he continued, "even if you don't want to show it. A king is alone, above even his closest advisors, responsible for everyone who follows him. Only he can do this. And I know that you can, as well."

Amenhotep sighed to himself. 'If that's what a king does, then I wonder what you are.' But the braid scratching at his cheek was a pointed reminder that he was not yet more than a crown prince, so he kept his temper hidden. "As you say, father."

The king looked at him steadily. "I _know_ that you can." Amenhotep met his eyes without blinking, and the king nodded at his silent response. "The coronation is scheduled for next year."

"Co-regent, I presume?" That had been the position Tuthmosis would have taken, had he returned to Thebes alive. It hadn't been much more than a year since then, and Amenhotep had little doubt that his father would die on the throne. He certainly wouldn't give it up so quickly.

"Of course. You're a quick learner, ta-sherit, but you don't even have a full court of advisors yet. I was younger than you are now when I took the throne, but I was raised for the job."

"Yes, father. I am working on it." In truth, Amenhotep gave his future associates as little thought as possible, and preferred to have it so. Fortunately, his tutor and other _caretakers_ were deft to scout out children whose first loyalty would (apparently) be to him, and all he had to do was nod and give enough rejections to make them think he was paying attention. And if they thought this meant they could influence him once he was actually enthroned, well, let them! He'd have no hesitations showing them wrong.

Oh, _how_ much easier it must be to have this all decided at birth!

Amenhotep III continued. "I'm not sending you away to Memphis like I did with your brother. You've still too much to learn, and there's no need. As co-regent, you'll stay here and rule by my side, so you won't yet need a full court of your own right away."

"Yes, father. And you said you would be in charge of the foreign nations?" They'd had this conversation before.

"That's right. You'll handle much of the internal affairs." He smiled. "It will leave me more time for studying."

Amenhotep couldn't help sighing aloud this time. His father was obsessed with ancient practices. Like this whole Aten thing. He'd found some old references to a cult of the sundisk, decided it must be great, and started promoting it right and left. Weren't there enough gods to appease already? He sighed again, and traced the path of the golden lock through his braid with a finger. He'd once considered it a good omen. Now it was just annoying. "Yes, father," he replied, no longer sure if there was even a question.

"So putting the finishing touches to your court can wait, but be sure to have chosen your wife before then."

Amenhotep's mind froze, except or a few unpleasant thoughts that sloshed into view like icy water. 'A wife?! A WIFE? Advisors are fine... aren't supposed to kill 'em, but you can send them off alright... but a WIFE? Ohh, I can't believe I forgot about that... The first wife's supposed to be something _special._ Can't just toss her in a harem and forget about her, not when you marry her when you're getting crowned... A WIFE?" That word froze into place at the top of his mind.

His father chuckled at his obvious discomfort. "Choose someone from my harem. I won't mind the loss." He put his hand on Amenhotep's shoulder and guided him out the door. "You know where to find it!"

Amenhotep stumbled a few steps after his father's hand left his back, then stood blank-faced and silent in the hall. Of course he knew where the harem was -- that was where he had to go to study every day! 'Great,' he grumbled, re-finding his feet. 'I'll never be able to look at those painted ladies the same way again...'

'I never want to look at these ladies again,' moaned Amenhotep to himself as he slunk out of the harem many days later. Lessons were painful enough, without those... _women_ staring at him and giggling and weren't they supposed to be making cloth with their servants or something? They weren't allowed to just sit around in their flimsy dresses and do nothing, he knew, even if they _were_ the daughters of kings, or pretty noblewomen. Ugh. The king had the _worst_ taste. Amenhotep grumbled darkly as he slipped into grimier halls -- the palace complex was too big for its own good.

"His" room was well off the normal routes, and wasn't even needed as a storeroom. The palace had been built by his father in the standard fashion: big, shiny, and incomplete. He didn't think he'd ever seen a temple that wasn't in some, sometimes abandoned, stage of construction. Here, the walls were bare, the furniture consisted of the odd pieces he'd taken for himself, and the only ornaments were a scattering of boxes and trunks, some containing forgotten baubles or useless shiny relics. The instruments he loved so much were hidden among these -- a harp between two boxes, a flute tucked inside... Even if the whole world knew he was hiding here, he couldn't bear to leave them out in the open. At least this way he could still pretend.

He had brought a torch with himself as usual, since the room had no windows and lights weren't routinely kept here. A little light was all he needed... there was nothing to see here except things to trip on. He took the torch over to a back corner, supposedly to make it less obvious from outside, but really so that he wouldn't be blinded looking at whatever messenger was sent to fetch him this time. With a groan, he shook his head to dislodge those honest thoughts, and opened his eyes to see a dark sheen slipping out of view behind a box. He started slightly, but his shoulders quickly sagged again. 'Just a servant doing some petty thieving.' He walked forward, holding the torch slightly higher. 'With what's in here, their find will be petty indeed.'

Looking over the box, he saw a girl, no older than six, with her head bowed and her arms wrapped around her knees. By the dark, reddish shade of her skin, she was more used to being outdoors than in, and from what he could see of her bare form, she already worked as a laborer. No wonder she was in here stealing.

He nodded to himself, turned, and set the torch in its accustomed niche. When he turned back around, another of those Anubis-sent messengers was smirking in the doorway. "Crown Prince Amenhotep, the just Meryre, long may he live, requests your presence at once." The servant turned without a pause, and was as quickly gone.

Amenhotep sighed. So soon. He knelt and plucked a soft arpeggio on the harp, then straightened his tunic and brushed some of the dust off his skirt. He left the room without a word, leaving the torch flickering dully behind him.

The seasons turned, and the hot, sandy winds that had blown down from the South abated as the Nile oozed back into its channel. New Year's was celebrated, with an excess of religious pomp, and the merchants that traveled throughout the country and farther along the Nile returned from wherever they'd spent the Inundation. Foreign emissaries came as well, and the pharaoh gloated over the gifts he received from his loving, loyal allies.

Amenhotep's anxiousness -- and irritation -- over his impending coronation had if anything increased, and messengers dragged him out of his musical sanctuary so often now that he'd stopped even trying to find relief there. Instead, he took to sloping around the less formal parts of the palace, and had managed to rapidly become an annoyance to the cooks and other workers.

It was with something akin to delight that he found the communal buffet for lesser nobility and supposedly-honored guests one day -- even if it was a slightly sullen member of that family. There might be more sand in the bread, but there was sand everywhere and no fawning, sycophantic aristocrats-to-be here. Their places were carved out, and whether or not they were content, they wouldn't be begging favor from him. Too valuable to be afraid, and too low to rise any higher, they were among the few people who didn't bother with the games of politics.

"...so a flat-barge like mine had no chance in waters like those, right? But can you imagine carrying all those bales down through the desert? The Nile might be falling, but there's still the winds, and, well, you know what _that's_ like. But leaving my goods behind -- no way! They're priced more than my skin's worth, and that's a pretty penny, as you know!" Amenhotep nodded an eager agreement, and splashed more wine into the gregarious merchant's cup. "So then I dragged my sons out -- and you can be sure they didn't want to show their faces; they'd gotten me into this mess in the first place, right -- so I dragged them out, and of course all our horses had drowned, so I took out the harnesses..." Amenhotep roared with laughter, spilling wine out of the skin and into the dust on the floor. The merchant grinned in appreciation and gave him a comradely poke in the side with an elbow, but accompanied it with a whisper that was abruptly sober. "See who's coming," he muttered, with the barest glance toward the door. Amenhotep caught his look, glanced as well, and groaned.

"Will I never have any peace?" His tone was as low as the merchant's, but his eyes were rolled to the heavens.

"Nay, not in this place," the man murmured back, as he bowed low to the approaching king.

Amenhotep responded with a single, rueful nod, then looked up, smiling cheerfully. "Wine, father?"

"Certainly." Amenhotep III accepted the cup from his son and stood silently swirling the wine for a long moment. The trader tried to appear engrossed in his own drink, and mildly drunk. "Had any luck today?" he suddenly asked.

"Yes, as a matter of fact." Amenhotep took a swig from his own cup. "I managed to eliminate everyone in your harem, individually and as a group."

Amenhotep III accepted this without blinking. "So?"

The boy shrugged. "This game's getting old. Let's end it." He glanced casually around the room, which had grown much quieter, and then pointed to a girl leaning against a table, not yet old enough to be habitually wearing clothes -- or already wed. "Her."

His father raised an eyebrow and looked at her sideways. "And her name?"

Amenhotep shrugged again and looked at the merchant, who coughed nervously. "Ankhtify, Great King. She's the daughter of my brother."

The old king nodded to this, looked at the girl again, and swiftly drained his cup.


	4. The meaning of living free

*Author's Note: Sorry this chapter is a week late. I had to take a break for a few days to rework the plot, since it wasn't going to flow quite right. That's done now, though, so hopefully I'll be able to update closer to weekly from now on... Thank you for your patience!

Also, thank you all very much for the kind reviews! I greatly appreciate the feedback. To quickly answer some of your questions, yes, the chapters' timelines will be vaguely alternating... yes, almost everything I put in here is relevant in some way or another... but, no, the outsiders (Bakura, Duke, the Kaibas) aren't likely to become major players, although Bakura will almost definitely make another appearance, at least. If you have more questions, I'll try to answer them -- but I won't give away the plot! That's going to remain a secret.

Oh, and, I've a bit of a request... I haven't had a ton of experience writing Téa and Tristan as serious characters, so if they're OOC, please tell me and I'll do what I can to fix it (what I'm doing with Joey is, alas, important to the plot). The feedback would be really helpful to me. Thank you in advance!*

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~Chapter Three: The meaning of living free~

"And I play...!"

"Come on, Kuriboh!"

"...Curse of Dragon."

Joey groaned and banged his head against the table. "Can't I ever win?!"

"Aww, don't take it so bad, Joey!"

"Yeah!" exclaimed Tristan with a broad grin that dispelled any thought that he might be agreeing with Téa. "After all, you were only a thousand points off!" Chuckles rippled through the crowd that always gathered to watch the Game King play, and the students started to disperse, chatting among themselves.

Joey sighed again and mumbled into the table, "Sometimes I don't know which a' you I'm playin'."

Yugi frowned, hunching his shoulders, and looked up at him with dark eyes. "Don't you think I can beat you on my own, Joey? You're a good player, don't get me wrong, but I've been playing this game since I was three."

"Yeah, but at least against you I oughta have at least a one-in-ten-thousand chance of winnin'!"

"Aww, come on, Joey!" Téa pleaded. "Don't have sour grapes!"

Tristan slapped Joey on the back. "Yeah, that's right! Just means you haven't played ten thousand games yet, that's all!" He grinned across the table at Yugi. "So what's your schedule look like for the next twenty years, man?"

Yugi laughed and started flipping over the face-down cards and sweeping them into a pile. "At the rate he's improving, he'll be able to beat me every time by then!"

"Well, alright then!" said Joey with a smile. "Guess you'd better watch out!" He stood up, pocketing his own deck, and sauntered out of the room.

"Yeesh!" Téa breathed as she sunk into Joey's chair and mimed wiping sweat from her brow. "I don't know what's gotten into him lately. He's so on-edge!"

"Maybe he's just worried about Serenity," Yugi suggested. "I know he's got the money and everything seems to be going well, but still, after so long, it's got to be nerve-wracking for them both."

"I think you're giving Joey too much credit!" Tristan laughed, and waved aside their protests. "Whatever. Hey, either of you up for a game? I wouldn't mind not looking like an idiot the next time Joey challenges me."

Téa grinned and pulled out her deck. "Well, you've come to the right people! Both Yugi and I have an unbroken winning streak against our Duelist-Kingdom-second!"

"How about it, Yuge? Wanna play the winner?"

"Sure!" Yugi gathered his cards and stood up, clearing the table for the duelists.

Téa quickly shuffled her deck as she waited for Tristan to sit down. "So who're you gonna root for, Yugi?" she asked with a wink.

"Hmm... I think Fairy's Gift and the Lava Battleguard." Téa and Tristan laughed, and started drawing their cards. Yugi watched them, smiling, and casually shuffled his deck.

//You're very diplomatic, Yugi.//

/How voyeuristic, Yami!/

A smirk tugged at Yami's lips. //Very funny.//

/Well, if you weren't joking, then thank you. But I was just trying to keep everyone from fighting./

//That's exactly it, Yugi. You're always so quick to soothe and encourage.//

Yugi laughed inside his mind. /I'd rather be nice than lose a friend!/

'And are you just being "nice" to me by not noticing that it's me they're jealous of?' He started as Yugi smiled at him so brilliantly that he was sure the boy had overheard him.

/Thanks again for the compliment, Yami, but it looks like the Lava Battleguard needs my support./ He winced. /Well, not anymore. But I should still get back to the duel. Feel free to encourage my Dark Magician for me, since I'm unfortunately pledged to support his opponent!/

//I think he'll be okay on his own for today, but if I run into him, I'll be sure to give him your greetings.//

Yugi winked and looked out through a different set of eyes. "Good move, Téa! But she left herself open to a certain kind of attack, Tristan, do you see? Come on, we talked about this just the other day..."

"Hey, Yugi, that's not fair! What're you helping him for? Don't you want to play me?"

"Well, what can I say, Téa? I like to win..."

Tristan pretended to huff. "And here I thought I was a charity case!"

Yugi flopped onto his bed that night with a yawn that turned into a grunt as his back hit the mattress. "I wish every day were 'bring your beaver to school' day," he said wistfully as he looked up at the ceiling.

//Bring your... beaver to school day?//

"Oh!" Yugi giggled. /I kind of forgot, I used to talk to myself a lot before I met you, especially at nights like this. But yeah, don't you think? Then maybe I'd have an excuse to get a beaver!/

//Would you rather keep talking to yourself?//

/No way! Back then, my conversations always went in a circle -- they stopped and started at the same place./ He tilted his head to look at the ceiling from a different angle. /I heard that the Ancient Egyptians thought that life was like a circle. Do you?/

//I don't know... I never felt like I was standing still long enough to get a good look around. And now... it's entirely different. But maybe it's really just the same.//

/Well, I know my life can never go back to the way it was!/ Yugi touched the Millennium symbol on the center of the Puzzle. /It might be a little scary at times, but I'd never trade this for the world./ He yawned again. /Why's my closet so far away? It'd be much nicer to get changed for bed if I didn't have to move./

//I thought you said you weren't a morning person, Yugi.//

The boy sweatdropped. /Uhh, I guess I'm not just a tired person?/

//If you're not tired, then what's your problem?//

Yugi laughed. /Yami!/

The spirit grinned back unrepentantly. //There, now, don't you feel more energetic?//

Yugi threw a stuffed turtle at his yami's head, which the spirit easily caught. /Yeah -- maybe more than you'd like!/ He took off running as Yami ducked into his soulroom.

"Yugi? Hmm... He's asleep already. And in his clothes, too. He'll regret that in the morning, but oh, well..." Yugi's grandfather reached inside the room and flipped the switch on the wall, then walked down the hall humming to himself.

Inside his mind, Yugi blinked. /Uh, Yami? Did it just go dark out there?/

//Indeed it did. So now you'll have to walk to your light switch as well as your closet! See why you should always listen to your elders?//

Yugi threw his turtle at Yami's head again.

"There's no reason to be mean about it! If you don't want to come with us, then just say so."

"Don't you even care, Yuge?!" Joey let his arms fall to his sides, sighing heavily. It was a weekend morning, but the lack of school didn't seem to be soothing Joey's hot temper. "I told you that I had to go down to the hospital today to sign those papers for Serenity's operation, and you didn't even remember."

"Oh, I... I'm sorry, Joey. I just... I mean, you know I care about your sister a lot, and want her to get better as soon as possible, and... and, well, I mean, don't you?"

"Sure, Yuge. Sure."

"Um, well... d'ya want me to come with you?"

"It's fine." Joey turned and walked away.

"No, Joey... wait!" Yugi groaned as Joey didn't even glance backwards. "It's not that I don't care..." he murmured, then looked plaintively up at his friends. "I don't remember anything about it. When did he tell me?'

"Yesterday, while you were... you know." Téa tapped her forehead in the symbol of "crazy," but Yugi knew what she meant -- talking to Yami.

Yugi groaned. "Oh, man... How's he ever gonna forgive me?"

"Ah, don't worry about it, Yugi!" Tristan slapped him on the back. "Joey's just stressed out right now. Betcha anything, tomorrow _he's_ apologizing to _you!"_

"You think so?" Yugi looked up at Tristan with a little hope mixed into the guilt and sadness on his face.

"Yeah, o'course. Don't worry about it." He turned his grin on Téa. "How about we grab something to eat before we head out?"

"Didn't you just eat breakfast?"

"Yeah, so?"

Téa threw her arms in the air with a disgruntled cry. "Boys!" Yugi and Tristan just laughed.

Several hours later, it was just as jovial a group that bumped into Joey as they walked down the street -- quite literally. The annoyed expression he got from being jostled barely flickered when he saw who had done it.

"H-hey, Joey. Sorry 'bout that."

"Hi, Yugi."

"Nice afternoon, huh?"

"Yeah, guess so."

Tristan rolled his eyes at Téa for their awkwardness.

"Although, I guess it's kind of bright. The sun keeps shining in my eyes."

"Mm, yeah. Mine, too."

"So, um... how'd your visit with the doctors go?"

It was like a taut rope inside Joey snapped its last thread. "It wasn't a 'doctor's visit,' Yugi, I wasn't _sick!_ I was going down there to sign some papers!"

"I-I know! I mean, isn't that...? That's what I meant!"

"Don't even bother, Yuge." Joey cut across his protests with a slash of his hand. "If you didn't care yesterday, don't pretend to now." Yugi started to protest again, but Joey glared at him darkly and he fell silent. "Nah, I'm onto you, _Yugi._ I tried to help ya, but you just won't listen. And if you don't want my help, then I ain't gonna bother with you anymore. Goodbye, Yuge. Have fun with your _'games.'_" He turned on his heel and stalked away.

"Joey, WAIT!" Tristan sprinted forward and spun around in front of the blonde. "Whaddya think you're doing, man?!"

Joey made no effort to keep his voice down. "The right thing! And if you have any sense, you will, too." He shoved past Tristan and left him staring.

"Yugi..." Téa's voice was soft and low.

"No, Téa. It's... it's... Just, no."

When Yugi flopped onto his bed, exhausted, that night, he still couldn't finish that sentence. Whenever it came into his head, he shook it out and smiled for the sake of whomever was there -- his friends, his grandfather... Now he was alone, and it haunted his thoughts -- but whenever he tried to think of an ending, it shied away and he found himself thinking in circles around it.

/Yami?/ he said, without raising his face from the bed. /What do you think?/

Silence was his only greeting.

/Yami?/ he tried again, again to no response. He laughed a little. /What, did you use up your life-time supply of words, or something?/ Again, nothing. He sighed.

/It's not your fault, you know.../

With his eyes pressed closed, he looked at the swirling colors against the blackness and found that they held the answer. He mumbled it out against his pillow.

"He's his own person. It's his choice..."


	5. Unable to deny

*Author's Note: Sorry for the long delay, guys. I've no other excuse except "school." But then again, doesn't that say it all?*

~Chapter Four: Unable to deny~

"So what matters of grave importance do we have to decide upon today?"

Amenhotep smiled at his wife as she settled on the throne beside him. "Just life, death, and the natural harmony of order in the universe, my dear."

"What, _again?_" Ankhtify, now known more pompously as Nefertiti, sighed. "I thought we sorted out the order of the universe last week!"

"Apparently, there are a few lingering kinks in our beautiful and assuredly flawless plan." Their eyes met for a moment, and their smiles, already tinged with mirth, turned to laughter. The messengers hid smiles of relief -- new the young king might be, but they had already learned to be grateful for his good moods. Some of the lower-level officials had even gone so far as to specially befriend some of the palace guards. While Amenhotep ruled the people fairly enough, well... it was not unheard of for rulers to dismiss their savants in an uncomfortably permanent fashion. Forewarned was forearmed -- sometimes more literally than others. An extra hour to slip out past the walls might be a welcome thing one of these days...

But for today, they were safe. Amenhotep was smiling, joking with his merry, dark-skinned queen. Nefertiti -- a picture of radiant beauty she was _not._ As a well-off merchant's daughter, she was of the sort that the more ambitious among them might hope to wed, but how she had taken the fancy of the prince -- that was not something to be discussed aloud, good day or no. At least, not by anyone but the queen herself. _She_ seemed to have no limits to her freedom.

Her eyes still sparkled with mischief as Amenhotep waved forward his first advisor. He was only a few years older than Amenhotep himself, and was considerably taller, but he looked gangly and nervous, as if the royal couple were scribes for whom he was reciting his lines. He had not been raised to his job, either. Amenhotep made another gesture, much more sweeping and grandiose than before, so the boy cracked a wavering smile and knelt briefly. "Great King, the news I bring you is..." he fumbled for an appropriate adjective for a moment, then shrugged. "Well, there's some good and some bad, my King. The crops are doing well and flourishing -- as much as can be expected in this early season, thank merciful Hapy. Hopes remain high, and it seems last year's harvest is lasting, as there have been few reports of attempts at looting from the temples. Of course, that also means there haven't been many seeking to labor on your building projects, my Lord." He glanced nervously at the King, to make sure that his "obvious" conclusion had not offended. Amenhotep returned his look with a thoughtful frown.

"I've been building something?"

"Uhh...." But the King laughed and waved him on -- there were always things being made. "Right, well, uh... Um, so there's also been reports of bandits along the main trade routes, Great King. They are becoming most troublesome, I fear."

"Wait." It was Nefertiti who spoke this time, with a sideways glance at her husband. "I thought you said thieves weren't a problem?"

"I did, my Queen, but these are not ordinary thieves -- peasants desperate for some bread. These are skilled bandits. The devastation has been terrible -- wreckage of boats has been floating down the Nile, and bones of the animals."

Amenhotep nodded. "That trade is important. If the merchants are too afraid to travel, Egypt's whole economy could shut down. Fortunately, it's nothing a few soldiers won't handle, I'm sure. I'll speak with the General of the Army about it later in the morning." One of the messengers slipped quietly away from the group and out a side door to inform him of the meeting. The advisor bowed.

"Very wise, my King. Now, a prince of the Mitanni arrived yesterday, as you know."

"And there will be a banquet."

Nefertiti laughed at her husband's dour comment. "You'd rather we greet him with stale bread and water?"

"Only if he insisted on eating."

The advisor interrupted nervously with a cough. "Yes, my Lord. Your father has arranged a great welcome for him. The prince has brought us gifts of gold, my Lord, and greetings and news from the Kin..."

The news was nothing extraordinary -- some tales of sickness, petty politics, and the like -- and the banquet was just as dull. That was, indeed, an impressive feat, since Takhirna was just as vigorous as Egypt's young rulers, but anything sanctioned by he Great House always seemed to be so. In all, it was with relief that Amenhotep took the sanctuary of his private rooms as the day turned to a bitter-cold night.

His wife was less completely pleased. She sat on their bed, looking pensively at a too-ornate vase, silent and lost in thought. Amenhotep sat behind her and put his arms around her waist, which was starting to show quite clearly that they'd been married for several months now. "What is it, my dear?"

"Oh..." She turned her head and looked back at him through half-lidded eyes. "I was thinking about what we heard this morning, about the bandits and the merchants."

"What do... oh, are you worried about your family?"

Nefertiti smiled and shook her head so that all of her tiny braids danced. "No, not at all. They don't travel what anyone would call "main" trade routes at this time of year. But still, you're right -- I've been a merchant all my life. My father and uncle... they used to tell me all about trading. The tricks, and the skills -- and the dangers." She looked back at the pot in the corner. "He used to tell me stories about monsters, hideous monsters that came from the hills or the river, and attacked without warning. Not that warning would have made a difference... no-one could stand against them."

Amenhotep laughed and hugged her tightly. "I'd much rather have been a merchant than a king! They tell such wonderful stories. Of course, minstrels tell the best of all." He patted her on the shoulder and stood to take off his scratchy wig.

Nefertiti smiled slightly, but her eyes were dark and worried -- and her voice low. "But I know that I saw one..."

In only a few months, however, the bandit problem faded away. A few ragged bands were caught -- not enough to have done it all by themselves, but they were openly punished and that alone could be enough to encourage the others to find a different line of work, and keep the traders happy with theirs. Even if they did try to haggle a higher price in exchange for the danger -- but if you listened to merchants, you'd believe every day was the beginning of the apocalypse.

Nefertiti herself was distracted by the birth of her first child, a daughter. While it would have been quite appropriate to hand her off to a wet-nurse and let the other woman take on the (quite honorable) chore of raising her, Nefertiti insisted on taking young Meritaten with her practically everywhere. Many were the audiences in the royal throneroom that were interrupted by Meritaten's angry cries, but Nefertiti's eyes always shone with love all the more, and Amenhotep could not bring himself to say anything against it. And it always did distract the more stubborn and unreasonable visitors.

Her family's caravan came to Thebes several months after Meritaten's birth. Not having any official tie to the royal family, since of course the Queen's birth had been a divine one, they went as usual to the merchants' banquet with no presumption to a higher class. They had only been in the city for two hours, however, before Nefertiti swept through the doors, followed by a wet-nurse and fanbearers... but smiling like a young girl just come home.

With light feet, she ran across the stone floor and embraced her father, uncle, and aunt, laughing at her uncle's gruff protests that she'd spill his wine. "Come, look!" Nefertiti took Meritaten from the nurse and held her out proudly toward the others.

"My beautiful, lucky darling!" Her father embraced her around the baby, while her uncle smiled into his wine. "I'm glad to find you still well!"

"And I you!" She returned the hug, then gave one to her aunt and let her take Meritaten to admire for a minute. "Come, won't you join us? My husband is eager to talk to you."

Her uncle clucked his tongue. "Been causing him trouble, have you? Well, he took you on and now it's his problem, so I say!" Nefertiti laughed and led them through the shining hallways.

The night was a normal one, however, and a quiet dinner with family wasn't on the schedule. The merchants sat quite a distance from the royal family and their more prominent guests -- but from the looks on their faces, the musicians and clinking, acrobatic dancers were enough to keep them in a good mood. And once the visiting nobles had been coaxed off to their beds, they lounged against the tables with the king and queen, half-empty beer mugs set all around.

"So, tell me, are you ready to retire from the merchant business yet? I'm sure Nefertiti would love having your company, and I'll never say 'no' to having another friendly face around."

"Not me, Great King," replied Nefertiti's uncle with a fond glance at his wife. "We're far too young to give it up now."

His wife, a thick-boned woman with a kind face, smiled back at him. "That's right! We're just starting to get the hang of it all, and what good would it be to stop now? There's so much left to see." She leaned over and kissed her husband, reinspired with the thought of a life of travel and adventure. Amenhotep nodded and turned to Nefertiti's father.

"And you, Ay?"

The man looked down and studied his cup for a moment. Older by some years than his brother, his wife had died not long after Nefertiti's birth. Nefertiti's early name of Ankhtify, "One Who Will Live," was a sure reflection of his growing unease. With these thoughts in his eyes, he looked up and nodded. "Thank you, Great King. I will gratefully accept. While I wish my brother best luck, that life is no longer for me, and I welcome the chance to settle down."

"I am gladdened to hear this news!" Amenhotep encouraged. "If you like, you may work for me, perhaps with my chariotry. You are good with horses?"

"Yes, my Lord, I have some skills."

"Then it's settled!" Amenhotep smiled on the others as well. "You are all always welcome here with me. My house is yours." They smiled back at him, and, for that moment at least, they were nothing more than family.

The seasons changed again and, with the merchants long gone, the weather turned blustery, with hot winds kicking up the sand and making travel impractical. Meritaten was still attached to Nefertiti like a leech -- or perhaps it was the other way around -- and Ay settled into his new job as Master of the Horses nicely. Amenhotep was disappointed to find him almost deadly dull, with a pedantic outlook and none of the fanciful tales characteristic of his previous compatriots, but he worked diligently and faithfully, so Amenhotep just strove not to engage him in conversation.

As it was, though, Amenhotep supposedly had enough to occupy his attention. Now 17, he would be moving to a palace in Heliopolis as soon as it was convenient to travel, and preparations had to be made. True enough -- but these were done by lower officials, not the king himself, and with the country relatively peaceful and prosperous, there was often little for him to do. Letters and grain reports could take up only so much time.

It was with this bored mood that he set off on a quest through the palace one afternoon, telling his wife, "We'll be leaving soon, and I really don't think I've left enough mark on this place yet." She politely declined to join him in his "artistic" destruction, saying that Meritaten was antsy. 'As am I,' he thought resentfully, irritated with her split attention.

His irritation slipped away, however, as he strode randomly around the palace and felt utterly irresponsible. An hour rummaging through forgotten storage boxes yielded several piece of relatively cheap and very gaudy jewelry to hang around his ears and neck, as well as a pretty little box that he thought would look nice in his rooms. Now he was walking along a back hall, considering whether to order the artists to repaint it with some garish scene... something involving a lion, perhaps. Something preposterous enough to consternate the painters. His ruminations on what this could be were cut short as he rounded a corner and caught sight of a slightly familiar figure clad in filthy linen rags. She saw him as well, and took off running.

Without knowing why, he set off after her -- but she was scared and he unfit. Struck by an idea, he carefully threw the box over her left shoulder, making her yelp with surprise. The box shattered against the ground and she darted to the right into a room.

And he had her. Looking in through the doorway, he recognized her at once as the young slave girl he'd once spared by ignoring. Her eyes showed fear as she looked back at him, but there was no doubt that she recognized him as well. For a long moment, they only stared.

"What is your name?" he finally asked.

"Bessel, my Lord." Her tone was strong, but not defiant -- more resigned. Amenhotep felt sick inside at those simple words. Bessel -- named after Bes, the goddess of fertility. She must have been only a child when she received that name. Something inside him clenched.

"Never again!" She started and looked up at him with wide eyes. Looking into those eyes, Amenhotep felt like he understood everything about her and would never know it all. "From now on, you will be 'Kiya.'"

Mahogany glimmered in her eyes, and she wore the faintest smile. "Yes, my Lord. Thank you." But Amenhotep didn't return her smile, and she blinked, again disconcerted. "My Lord?" She turned around and looked at what the king was staring at, a mural showing marching soldiers, slain bodies, fire, and various disfigured shapes that could only be termed "monsters." Behind her, Amenhotep swallowed painfully.

"Well, that can't be good."


End file.
